


Like Rabbits

by mckayla (steveromanov)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Darcy's pretty paranoid that Natasha can read minds but she just knows everything, F/M, Other than that the timeline is pretty ambiguous whoops, Post-Thor: The Dark World, Roommates, Steve and Natasha's sex life is probably too healthy, but pre-AOU, i guess post-CATWS too??, post-recovery!Bucky, the curious case of Bucky's apartment
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-10
Updated: 2016-01-08
Packaged: 2018-05-01 02:25:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5188592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/steveromanov/pseuds/mckayla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Darcy temporarily becomes Steve and Natasha's roommate after she and Ian split and Jane is having the time of her life on Asgard with Thor. While she really, really appreciates her friends helping her out in her time of need, their very active sex life isn't exactly what she bargained for—nor needs, especially after a breakup, however minor.</p><p>Luckily, Bucky's there to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers are Every Girl's Wet Dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My first fic for this ship (if you don't count The Girl From Legal, which was focused on Steve/Nat). I ended up shipping this more than I originally anticipated, and this idea came to me after reading Leftennant's Ducky fic where Steve and Natasha go at it like frenzied rabbits (BTW go read that fic, it's awesome and hilarious). I was also a tad bit sleep-deprived, so yeah. 
> 
> Tell me what you think!

Darcy Lewis is many things. Ungrateful? Not one of them.

To put it plainly, she and Ian are no more. Darcy’s not very beat up about that, because what they had was fun, but nothing serious—just sex and seriously hot makeout sessions under the pretense of watching _Planet Earth_ on Netflix. But during their little tryst, she’d been staying at his apartment, meaning that once they parted their ways, Darcy was out of someplace to crash. Normally, this wouldn’t have been a problem. Jane’s her best friend, her _amiga_ cheetah, her sister-from-another-mister, and her uncomfortable-as-fuck couch is always open to Darcy, even though Darcy doesn’t really sleep on the couch as much as with Jane in her bed. This is where Darcy’s second problem had come in, however. Jane’s place in London had been foreclosed ever since she went AWOL to Asgard with Thor at the end of last month, and while Darcy was very much supportive of the fact that Jane was (and still is) probably up in space having explosive intercourse, Darcy neither a) was a part of that, b) wanted to be a part of that (she loves them both, really, she does, but never in a million years) or, unlike her friends, c) had a place to sleep. At least not until Steve and Natasha, just like the badass superheroes they are, come in and save the day by offering her their spare bedroom. And free of charge, at that.

So, no, she’s not ungrateful. In fact, she’s very much the opposite, because without Steve and Natasha, she’d be without a place to stay. She doesn’t even want to think about where she could possibly be right now had it not been for them. She shivers at the thought of greasy-as-hell hair, smelling like B.O. and ripe garbage instead of her treasured _Victoria’s Secret_ perfume that makes her feel and smell extra hot. No, she can’t even _fathom_ where she’d be, because her breasts already give her enough back problems when she’s sleeping on the most expensive mattress that Tony Stark’s money can buy, and to think she could be crashing on the ground of some dank and shady London alleyway? The thought is enough to give her goddamn nightmares.

Which, by the way, she does not need, because she’s already having enough trouble sleeping as it is.

Darcy is _not_ ungrateful. She’s not. So she tries _very_ hard not to get completely and totally fucking annoyed when she has hardly gotten a restful night’s sleep since relocating to Steve’s place in Brooklyn because he and Natasha fuck like rabbits over a loudspeaker in the wee hours of the night. Kinda like they are now.

Who knew Captain America is such a screamer? It fleetingly makes Darcy wonder what the hell Natasha does to him in their bedroom across the flat. And then she immediately pushes that thought out of her mind because she’s slightly paranoid of the idea that Natasha, despite claiming to be just a mega-super-spysassin, can also read minds. And Darcy doesn’t want to risk anything, so she starts thinking of puppies or some other generic shit to distract her from the enthusiastic sex sounds and rhythmic headboard banging from the other side of the apartment and hopes that, by some miracle, she falls asleep sometime during the fourth round.

She doesn’t.

When she comes out of her room the next morning with hair like a rat’s nest and bags so heavy under her eyes she’s tempted to call them each Gucci and Prada, Steve whistles lowly over his shoulder where he’s holding a pan at the stove and Natasha lifts an eyebrow as she blows steam off the top of her mug of coffee.

“Wow, you look like shit.”

Darcy manages to flick up her middle finger. “I’d say, ‘you too,’ Natasha, but all three of us know that that’d just be a blatant lie.”

“You want an omelet?” Steve asks, and Darcy wishes she could say that he looks like shit as well, but the man makes it hard when he’s standing in front of the stove in nothing but a pair of low-hanging pajama bottoms. Damn these two and their Brangelina power couple-ness, honestly.

She grumbles, “Put double the cheese and quadruple the bacon and your girlfriend’s forgiven for saying I look like shit.”

“Oh, please,” Natasha scoffs, lifting her hair over her shoulder. And, seriously, how the _fuck_ does she look like she just got back from the salon at eight in the morning? “You can never be mad at me.”

Darcy supposes that that’s true. Her and Steve’s… _antics_ , for lack of a better word, have been keeping her up for days and she’s not even the tiniest bit pissed off at them. Just grouchy at some unknown entity because she’s tired and no amount of makeup in the world can make the circles around her eyes any less noticeable. She’d wonder how Steve and Natasha even get sleep due to how long and frequent their activities go on throughout the night, but she figures that by the time they’re actually finished, they’re literally too fucked out to do anything but sleep.

Natasha looks at Darcy at that moment like she’s poking around in her head. It makes Darcy nervous, so she focuses all of her attention on the fact that she’s about to be loaded with cheddar and bacon crumbles and, just in case Natasha _can_ read minds, starts thinking very nice thoughts about her hosts.

Once Steve places Darcy’s omelet in front of her, he slings a kitchen towel over his shoulder and braces both hands against the opposite edge of the counter, bare (and very, very broad) chest displayed right in front of Darcy and Natasha like a giant, wall-to-wall TV screen. He seems completely oblivious to the fact that Darcy’s trying really hard not to choke on chunks of bacon, cheese, and egg, while Natasha looks like she’s ready to drag her boyfriend back to their room and pick up where they left off the night before. It’s not enough to make Darcy lose her appetite (Steve’s a _really_ good fucking cook), but she’s definitely relieved when Bucky steps into the apartment without knocking and interrupts Natasha’s unabashed eye-fucking.

“Put on a fucking shirt, man,” Bucky says way of greeting, coming into the kitchen and shoving a coffee mug under the Keurig machine.

“And remind me why he has a set of keys?” Natasha asks into her own cup, and Steve’s sighing and pretending like he’s exasperated with his best friend but Darcy knows that he thinks the whole situation is funny. Frankly, Darcy kind of thinks it’s funny, too—she’s always liked Bucky, even when he was angsty and hardly spoke to anyone except Steve. He’s still sort of angsty now, though he’s more how he used to be, or at least how Darcy imagines how he was back when he and Steve were younger. And he’s fucking hot, so there’s that.

“He has a set of keys because he’d just pick the lock to our front door if he didn’t have them anyway,” Steve answers, fetching a t-shirt from where it had apparently been abandoned on the couch last night when Natasha jumped his bones. Darcy had been there for that. They were watching _300_ (well, Darcy was watching Gerard Butler and all his glory) when Natasha and Steve started making out underneath their blanket like a couple of teenagers. Least to say, Darcy didn’t get to watch the rest of the film.

“A bit clingy, James?” Natasha teases. Bucky says something back in fluent Russian. Whatever it is, it makes Natasha smirk against the rim of her coffee mug.

“I gotta learn Russian,” Steve half-whispers to himself. “For all I know, you two could be making fun of me every time you start speaking it.”

“You have the sharpest memory in the world, Steve,” his girlfriend reminds him. “You could take one lesson on _Rosetta Stone_ and be just as fluent as me.”

“And for those of us who aren’t as fortunate?” Darcy asks.

Natasha shrugs, smiling wryly. “Well, I guess you’ll just have to deal.”

“I don’t think you have anything to worry about, Steve,” Bucky says, turning away from the coffee maker and leaning against the counter. “Natasha and I have no qualms about making fun of you in English.”

“I don’t know why I put up with the two of you.”

At the same time, Bucky and Natasha both say, “Because you love us.”

 _And because one of them corrupts you in your bed every night,_ Darcy thinks. She ignores the way a smirk graces Natasha’s lips at the same time as the sentence pops up in her head.

Oh, wow, this omelet is _really_ good. Who knew? So good. Yum. _Natasha, if you’re reading my mind, I’m sorry and please don’t kill me._

“Well, I hate to cut our breakfast short, but Steve and I have work that actually needs to be done,” Natasha says, sliding gracefully off of her stool and giving her boyfriend a look that Darcy wished she didn’t know all too well.

“Earth’s mightiest heroes-type work?” Bucky raises an eyebrow, spearing the piece of omelet Darcy had cut off for herself with a fork he pulled out the drawer and giving her a close-lipped smile as he chews and she flips him off with a glare.

Natasha nods. “I’ll tell Stark you said hi,” she says, and then looks at Steve as if to say, _are you coming?_

He momentarily looks confused, but then seems to catch on when he abandons his coffee so fast that the brew nearly sloshes over on to the counter and sputters to Darcy and Bucky over his shoulder, “Yeah, we’d better get ready. We’re already running late.”

Their bedroom door practically slams shut in their wake. Bucky swallows the food in his mouth before saying, “Well, that was odd. You think they actually got work, or they left us to go screw each other’s brains out?”

“Oh, no. Fury’s been really busy with them this past week,” Darcy replies. “But I would bet money that they’re thirty seconds away from sharing a shower right now.”

Bucky leans forward and makes a face, sniffing the air near her head. “Yeah, you seem like you could use one yourself, Lewis.”

“You know, I didn’t kill you when you stole some of my omelet, and now you’re saying I smell? You may be skilled with a knife, but I’m pretty handy with a fork.”

His voice takes on a huskier note. “Oh, I bet.”

Darcy stares at him for a moment, eyebrows raised in amusement, before she’s sputtering with laughter and asking, “ _Barnes_. Was that supposed to be some sort of come-on?” She’s full-blown laughing now, doubled over so far that her nose is practically touching her eggs. “That has got to be the _strangest_ sexual innuendo in the history of sexual innuendos. I mean, what sort of sex acts could you possibly do with a fork?”

Bucky opens his mouth to say something, but Darcy goes on. “How kinky, shoving a fork up someone’s ass. Are you into that sort of crap, Barnes?”

“Alright, this is where I’m going to stop this conversation, just in case you make it weird and bring up my ‘quasi-homosexual’ relationship with Steve like Natasha does all the time.”

Darcy wipes at the tears that have collected at the corners of her eyes, still chuckling to herself. Bucky’s wearing a small grin, so Darcy knows that he’s not totally annoyed by her teasing, but that last sentence catches her attention. “Natasha dating a guy who she also believes has gay feelings for his best friend? That’s fantastic.”

“She says we’re every girl’s wet dream,” Bucky grumbles.

“Does that include her?”

“Honestly? I don’t know and I don’t _want_ to know.”

“Well, it includes me, that’s for damn sure,” Darcy says, sliding the rest of her omelet across the counter for him to finish. Bucky, however, is too busy staring slack-jawed at her, so the plate bumps against his knuckles.

“What?”

“Oh, Jesus, Barnes, you can’t seriously be so unaware to how utterly attractive you and Steve are. How cliché.”

“You’re insinuating that you have wet dreams about me and Steve,” he clarifies.

She rolls her eyes. “It’s a saying. Shit, I forgot you’re still not entirely caught up on twenty-first century lingo.”

“Please,” Bucky scoffs. “My lingo is fine.”

“Your lingo is occasionally _outdated_.”

“Examples?”

“You still call women ‘doll’ sometimes, Barnes.”

Bucky actually pouts. He sort of looks adorable, especially as a lock of hair falls in front of his eyes. “It’s a force of habit.”

“An outdated habit,” Darcy teases. “One that Steve only got rid of once Natasha started dating him, so I think you’ll be stuck with it until you get yourself a modern girlfriend.”

Bucky’s quiet for a moment, studying her with a small smile on his face. Darcy raises a slightly puzzled and slightly expectant eyebrow, glancing between him and the now empty plate in front of him.

“How the fuck did you eat that so fast?”

Bucky blinks. Before he can answer, however, a rather vocal and enthusiastic moan comes from Steve and Natasha’s room, one that sounds distinctly _masculine_ , and Bucky’s face turns into a grimace so fast that for a second Darcy thinks that all of the wrinkles he should have developed in the past seventy years are suddenly going to appear.

“That’s something I could have _definitely_ gone my whole life without hearing,” he shudders, face still screwed up tight as Darcy watches him with an amused expression on her face.

“Yeah, you get used to it,” she laughs dryly.

Bucky’s brow wrinkles in slight confusion, though he quickly catches on. “Shit, that happens a lot?”

“Try every night, bud.” She lifts a hand and points at the rings around her eyes. “You don’t get these bad boys just by asking for them.”

He opens his mouth to reply, but another moan sounds. Again, this one’s from Steve, as it almost always is, Darcy has come to learn, and Bucky clamps his hands over his ears so quickly and humorously that Darcy can’t help but laugh. He seems as if he’d shoot her a glare were he not so focused on blocking out any and all sex sounds that his childhood best friend is currently making and, in an overdramatically loud voice, asks, “Do you mind getting out of here?”

“And doing what?” Darcy laughs. “I mean, you _did_ say I stink, so if we do leave, you’re going to have to sit through the vocal sexing while I shower anyways.”

“I was joking, Jesus Christ,” he says quickly. “We can go anywhere, do anything. Just as long as I don’t have to hear _that_ again, I’m fine with whatever.”

Darcy takes a very long moment pretending to think about his offer, and in that time Bucky starts humming some old jazz song to himself as the moans get less sporadic and even more loud. Eventually, Darcy takes pity on him and the heavily pained expression on his face.

“Alright, _fine_ , you big baby,” Darcy chuckles. “We’re getting waffle cones, since you decided to demolish my omelet.”

“You gave it to me!” He half-yells.

“Only because you were probably going to finish the damn thing anyway.”

“It’s not even nine in the morning and you want to get ice cream? What kind of parlor is even open at this hour?”

“We can always stay here and listen to the audio porn.”

Bucky grumbles loudly and dramatically. “Christ, okay,” he relents, making a beeline for the front door with his hands still covering his ears. “Get dressed and meet me outside in ten. I’m driving.”

Before Darcy can tell him that _no, he very well is fucking not,_ Bucky’s already out the door.


	2. Walt Fuckin' Disney

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I was going to wait until next week to update to space myself out, but I wrote this chapter the day after I posted this fic and I just got so excited because of all of the great feedback that I couldn't wait to post part two. This chapter somehow started taking a turn for the angsty but I cut that off really fast; it's too early for sadness and, besides, i'm pretty sure Darcy would have none of it.

So, yeah, no—Darcy’s not driving. And also, what’s up with serum-enhanced soldiers and motorcycles?

Not that she’s complaining, because, well. Bucky looks damn good when she steps out on to the sidewalk, straddling an all-black Harley between muscled legs and staring out at the street so that she has a pretty damn good view of his stubbly profile. Darcy’s never been one to be blind to male (or female, for that matter) beauty, but sometimes she forgets that Bucky can be so ruggedly handsome when he’s not eating her food and telling her she stinks.

“You done ogling?”

Bucky’s voice, which she definitely notices has a smug lilt to it, cuts her out of her distraction. She lifts her chin at his haughty smirk and says, “As a matter of fact, no. I wasn’t.”

He chuckles. “Hey, at least you’re honest.”

“I’m always honest,” she counters, approaching him and the bike.

As she swings a leg over and settles in behind him, he shakes his head. “Oh, no, that’s Steve and Natasha’s thing. You’ve only been living with them for, what, just shy of a week? How many times do they even say that sentence around you?”

“Almost as much as they _fuck_ ,” Darcy says into his ear, just to make him uncomfortable. She’s notices self-satisfyingly that it has the desired effect.

Bucky inhales. “So. Ice cream,” he says tightly, starting the bike’s engine. By some miracle, Darcy keeps from laughing at the fact that the tips of his ears have gone a tad pink. He can listen to her go on about shoving forks up people’s asses but as soon as she mentions the fact that his best friend is getting some while he isn’t? Bucky Barnes _actually_ turns into Steve Rogers, at least before Natasha-the-apparent-sex-goddess entered his love life.

Darcy swears that, if she focuses, she can hear Steve groaning from the third floor of his apartment building. She fleetingly wonders how far the range of Natasha’s mind reading powers extend, if they’re even existent. She’s pretty sure they are, and she doesn’t want to take any chances, so she nudges the outside of Bucky’s leg with the inside of her own. “C’mon, Barnes, step on it. I’ve got a double-decker mint chocolate chip cone calling my name.”

As they start down the road, Darcy’s suddenly grateful that she opted for her pea coat instead of the thin sweater she initially planned on wearing, because the wind whips at her face and freezes the tip of her nose and that sweater is seriously airy when there’s a stiff breeze involved. She wraps her arms tighter around Bucky’s waist and tucks her face into his shoulder blade. He slightly tenses when she does, but relaxes almost immediately. He’s incredibly warm, Darcy notes—she can feel his body heat even through his jacket, and if the watered-down version of the serum is the reason why he’s currently operating like a baby furnace, Darcy doesn’t envy Natasha when she’s wrapped up in Steve’s arms on a hot summer day. She _does_ envy her when it’s colder-than-hell in the apartment, but Darcy’s not a part of that sandwich, nor does she want to be. She may be curious as to what Natasha does to Steve every night to make him moan so goddamn animatedly, but she’s not _that_ curious; in fact, the thought kind of intimidates her. Natasha and Steve have enough strength between the two of them to lift a small car, and Darcy’s but a wee, five-foot-three (keyword: normal) human being. _Curvaceous_ , yes, but she has no doubt that Steve could lift her with one hand without so much as straining with the effort.

Darcy wonders if Bucky can do that, too. Would he break a sweat if he tried lifting her with one of those broad hands of his wrapped around her waist? She takes a look at his arms and the thickness of them beneath his coat’s sleeves and decides that, no, he probably wouldn’t. It sends a small thrill up her spine, one that actually manages to catch her by surprise, and her grip tightens around Bucky’s midsection before she can stop herself. Thankfully, he doesn’t say anything. _Un_ thankfully, she’s now having very enticing thoughts of Bucky exhibiting his strength on or in her presence and, shit, yeah, she knows he's seriously hot but since _when_ has she even thought about him like that?

A voice in the back of her mind supplies, _Lewis, you think about every attractive person you meet like that._

Another voice says, _sure, but this feels different._

Darcy’s own voices pops in and snaps, _fuck off, the both of you, bye._ She hesitates. _Is one of you Natasha?_

“Hello, earth to Darcy. Anyone there?”

She blinks and looks around, hoping her face isn’t too flushed. They’re pulled over in front of a pizza place Steve has hundreds of coupons pinned on his refrigerator for. “Huh?”

“I asked you, which way to the ice cream parlor? I’m assuming you had one in mind, one that’s open at eight-thirty in the morning for some odd fucking reason.”

Darcy makes a face. “…I didn’t?”

Bucky whistles, “Good plan, Lewis.”

“Well, sorry! You ate my omelet and I haven’t even had coffee yet. And, I remind you, I’m almost a whole week sleep deprived. Cut me some slack.”

“Okay, for one, you _gave me the omelet_ ,” he starts, turning his head to look at her over his shoulder. “For two and, as a matter of fact, for three, I am neither at fault for the lack of caffeine in your body or your lack of sleep.”

“I need someone to blame,” Darcy grumbles.

“Blame Steve and Natasha.”

“I can’t,” she replies. “Steve’s so nice that it’s hard to be mad at him and Natasha scares me, despite being my friend.” _Plus, I’m pretty sure she’s a telepath._

Bucky cocks an eyebrow. “I’m not nice and I don’t scare you?”

“No and no.”

Bucky lets out a long sigh, though he’s also smiling. “Guess I gotta step up my game.”

“You mean, like, step it completely into existence? Because you have none.”

“You know, back in my day—”

“Bucky, this _is_ your day.”

“Back in my day,” he repeats, giving her a look, “I was pretty popular with the dames— _ladies_.”

Darcy clucks her tongue. “There you go again with your outdated lingo.”

He turns back around and starts the engine again, mumbling something about, “fuckin’ Steve and his porno crooning” and “fuckin’ Natasha and whatever the hell she does to him to make him sound like that.” Darcy’s too busy snickering at the back of his head, so she forgets to ask him where the hell they’re going as he pulls back on to the street and continues down the road.

They end up at an IHOP. It’s not the international house of coffee, but there’re pancakes. It’ll do.

Darcy orders a stack that rivals Bucky’s. He gapes at her over a mountain of fluffy cake, whipped cream, and strawberry syrup.

“What? I’m a growing gal.”

“Lewis, you’re twenty-four.”

“And still growing,” she counters, shoveling a bite of food into her mouth. Bucky continues staring at her for a moment before shaking his head and digging into his own stack.

They eat in silence for a few moments before he asks, “So, why’re you even staying with Steve and Nat anyways? I mean, I know about the whole ex-guy thing and Jane being up on Asgard, but why Steve’s place when I’m sure Stark has no problems with lending you a floor or two in the tower?”

“For that very reason,” she answers. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m all about luxury. But I don’t need all that space. Besides, and I’m telling you this in confidence”—she lifts her fork threateningly—“being alone like that kind of gets scary.”

Bucky just nods in understanding, so she goes on. “Plus, I talk way too much to have a whole _floor_ of a building to myself. And you can only binge watch so many shows on Netflix before you get bored. I mean, I guess I could go to the labs and bug Tony, but with my luck, some freak accident would choose to break out as soon as I stepped foot in there.”

“No, I get it,” he says to her, and when she looks up, he actually looks tense. He tries to hide it with a smile as he continues, “Well, I can’t really relate to the talking too much thing, or the Netflix, or the freak accident, but I get it.” He sobers again. “I don’t like being alone, either.”

She’s not teasing when she asks, “Is that why you’re always over at Steve and Natasha’s place?”

He lifts a shoulder in a shrug, a shy expression suddenly appearing on his face. “I tend to get too lost into my thoughts when I’m not with company.”

Darcy doesn’t ask about that particular sentence, because she knows what he means. Bucky may be better now, but she knows that his ghosts still haunt him. Still, she can’t imagine how hard it must be for him. And here she is complaining how she hasn’t gotten a good night’s sleep in days because of some rather horny housemates while Bucky’s probably spent the better half of two years lying awake at night because of some rather horrible memories.

She feels like an asshole, so she changes the subject.

“Speaking of, I’ve never been to your apartment.”

He scoffs, a small smirk on his lips. “And you never will.”

“What? Why?” She pouts. “You’ve seen mine.”

“It’s not yours,” he reminds.

“It technically is,” she argues.

“Do you pay the bills?”

“Stop deflecting. Why am I not allowed to see your place?”

Bucky goes back to eating his food. “Don’t take it personal. Not even Steve’s seen it. I had Jarvis help me buy it so that no one would.”

Darcy watches him for a moment, confusion written all over her face. “Is this some sort of assassin-slash-spy thing I don’t know about? Does Natasha have some super-secret apartment too?”

“I dunno. Wouldn’t count it out,” he answers.

“And Clint?”

“Barton has a farm, apparently.”

“Ah, so it’s just you who’s being super weird about where he lives.”

In a poor attempt to defend himself, Bucky tells her, “No one’s ever been to Barton’s farm.”

“I don’t give a shit about his f—although, wait, do you think he has a _Farmer’s Only_ dot com account?”

Now it’s Bucky’s turn to look confused. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Darcy sighs. “Forget it. But as I was saying, I don’t give a shit about Clint’s farm. I give a shit about your apartment, and your unwillingness to show it off. Are you telling me you’ve never had a housewarming party?”

“I’ve never had any type of party.”

“Okay, this is sad,” Darcy leans back again, setting down her fork. This is definitely more important than filling her stomach with sugary sweet pancakes. “This is sad, and this needs to be fixed.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “I like my privacy.”

“We just got done having a discussion about how neither of us likes being alone.”

“‘Privacy’ and ‘alone’ are not the same things.”

“Stop being so fucking technical with me for a second, would you? Fine, parties are off the table. I admit, I may have been jumping a little ahead of myself in my shock, but we’ll work our way there,” she says. “Do I at least get to know _why_ no one’s allowed at your apartment?”

“Uh, let me think—no.”

Darcy sighs in relent, pretending to drop the subject. They eat in silence for a few minutes, and, in fact, Bucky’s swiping the final drops of syrup on his plate with a last chunk of pancake when she asks, “Is it because you have some weird collection or something?” Her voice goes low as she leans forward. “Is it dolls?”

He groans. “ _No_.”

“Oh, I know,” she gasps. “You’re a brony.”

“Again, I don’t know what that is—no, that’s alright, you can put your phone back, I don’t want to see what it is, either.” Darcy pouts at him but tucks her phone away anyways. “I’ve already reached my daily limit of mental scarring, but thanks.”

She huffs. “I’m going to ask Natasha to teach me how to scale the side of a building, and I’m going to break into your place in the middle of the night. Just watch.”

“You don’t even know where I live.”

“Natasha knows _everything_.”

“Then I wish you good luck with your breaking and entering, truly.” He polishes off the rest of his food, and Darcy does the same, along with three more cups of coffee so that she’s positively wired. “You think our friends have cleared the apartment yet?”

“They _did_ say they had a thing with Fury, but honestly, those two can go at it for hours.” Bucky winces, and Darcy’s lips curl up in a smirk. “We _could_ always go to your place…”

“Smooth, but no.”

“Fine, I give up,” she groans impatiently. Bucky gives her a doubtful look and she mends, “I give up _for now_. Until then, I’m currently on both a sugar and caffeine high and I could go for a few hours of watching Guy Fieri stuff his face on _Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives._ What do you say, Barnes?”

He’s looking at her like she’s just grown another head. “I don’t—”

“Know what that means. Yeah, yeah, I got it,” she finishes. “You and I are going to _Food Network_ and chill, although without the theoretical ‘chill’ part.” She’s thinking, _too bad_ , before she can stop herself. Still. It _is_ too bad.

“I’m nearly uncomfortably full after eating that omelet and these pancakes, and you want to watch some guy eat food on TV?”

With her body bent over the table, Darcy manages to pat Bucky on the cheek and give him a pitying look. “Oh, you poor thing. There is _never_ a bad time for food, least of all triple D.”

“No offense, but I’d rather do anything else in the world than watch another guy eat, especially right now.”

“Even listen to your best friend get his brains fucked out?”

Bucky shoots her a sharp look. “Not funny.”

“Alright, no Guy Fieri. But we _are_ firing up Netflix.” She stops for a moment, tapping the side of her jaw with her finger in thought. Then she gets an idea. “ _Disney_.”

“What?”

It’s amazing how utterly confused Darcy can make Bucky in one setting, but hell—she doesn’t screw around when it comes to Walt fuckin’ Disney.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I included Clint's farm despite the fact that I said this fic was pre-AOU. Idk, this timeline is pretty all over the place.


	3. She Who Shall Not Be Tickled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have come to realize that this fic more or less revolves around food, sex, and food and sex. And Netflix. What can I say, I love food? And I am definitely not obsessed with my ships' sex lives?

When they get back to the apartment, Steve and Natasha are, thankfully, nowhere to be found. Bucky still looks a bit (a  _lot_ ) haunted by the ghosts of Steve moaning’s past, and Darcy admits that she kind of relishes in the horrified expression he gets on his face when he comes to sit on the couch next to her, and she says, “Watch out for come stains.”

He’s fast, Darcy knows this, but she swears she’s never seen him jump up so quickly when the words come out of her mouth.

“That’s it,” he says, raising his hands in surrender. “I’m finding new friends.”

By some miracle, Darcy manages to sputter out between laughs, “I’m kidding, you big baby. But they have made out on this couch more times than I can count on one hand, and that’s just in the week I’ve been here.”

Bucky hesitates between sitting next to her or taking up one of the other arm chairs in the living room, but he eventually settles in on her left. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m far from a prude”—Darcy wiggles her eyebrows suggestively at that, and he rolls his eyes—“but, Jesus Christ, do they ever take a break from jumping each other’s bones?”

“If I was Natasha, I definitely would be taking advantage of being in a monogamous relationship with  _that_.” She tilts her head. “But then again, if I was Steve, I’d also take advantage. They’re hot,” she shrugs. When Bucky gives her a withering glance, she adds, “Maybe they’re just making up for lost time.”

“I know I haven’t been around for all that long, but yeah, they’re two of the most hard-headed people I know. I doubt their relationship came together easily.”

“Oh, buddy, you have no fucking idea. It was a shit show, in all the good, flirty, and angst-y ways. It was like watching a movie. But on the other hand, like you said— _stubborn_. A fuck ton of stubborn.”

“Well, at least they’re together now.” He winces. “Even though it’s at the expense of my ears. And your sleeping habits. You know, you should really invest in some earplugs.”

Darcy shakes her head as she leans forward and snatches up the TV remote. “The white noise drives me nuts,” she explains. She switches on Netflix and starts scrolling through her queued movies. “Alright, Barnes. I’m sure you know who Walt Disney is, because he’s old—and dead—as fuck and he’s the best thing to ever happen to me.”

Bucky gives her a doubtful expression.

“Fine, overstatement,” she admits. “But you should know by now that I, Darcy Lewis, am queen of overstatements.”

“True. Yeah, I know about Walt Disney. Never really watched any movies, though. Was either too broke or Steve was too sick.”

“I thought you said you were popular with the ‘dames’ back in the day, Barnes,” she teases. “You’re telling me you never took one of them to the theatre?”

Bucky’s wearing a small smirk when she turns to look at him. “Well, yeah, of course. But we weren’t watching the movie so much as we were, y’know…”

“Pulling a Steve and Nat?”

Bucky actually scowls. “ _No_ , unlike this day and age, we people back then actually had a bit of decency, at least enough to not screw each other in public places. But we made out. S’different.”

Darcy tries not to think about Bucky in a dark movie theatre with his tongue down some girl’s throat and his hand up her skirt, his hair short and neatly slicked back in contrast to the loose, shoulder-length style he sports today. She definitely tries not to think about the same image, though with Bucky in his forties’ military dress uniform instead of a button-up shirt tucked into a pair of pressed pants, his hat covering his lap and what may be  _growing_  in his lap as he deepens the kiss. And those  _lips_ , well, they’re a fucking sin, and she imagines that they’re pink and plump once he pulls back from Darcy’s own swollen lips, and…

Wait a fucking minute. What? No.  _What?_

It’s too late to shove that image out of her mind and totally live in denial by pretending like she never thought about it, but she’s suddenly grateful that she’s nowhere in range of Natasha’s telepathic powers, because Darcy doesn’t think she’s ever blushed harder in her life than she is right now. Her skin feels like a vice, too hot wrapped around her body, and she has the urge to rip off all of her clothes and take a very cold shower at that very moment. Of course, that would mean getting naked in front of Bucky, and  _that_  thought only adds to her problems, not reduces them. Still. She could really use a glass—no, liter—of ice water right about now.

“Darce? You alright?” Bucky reaches out and places two fingers on her forearm, and she’s afraid that he’ll know the exact reason why her skin is hot and clammy. Of course, he won’t, because he’s not as omniscient as Natasha, but Darcy’s paranoid and sort of shocked and, well,  _aroused_.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” she says after a seemingly long moment, blinking to refocus her vision. His fingers are still on her, which doesn’t make the feat any easier. “Think I just ate too much. And coming down from my caffeinated sugar high,” she lies, and it’s a good thing that her lifestyle during high school rounded her deception skills perfectly, because he seems to believe her. Or, at least, accept her answer. Lying about arousal is different than lying about sneaking out to a party at a friend’s house, after all, so her tact might be all wrong.

Nonetheless, Bucky hums in the back of his throat and it’s enough to distract Darcy again, but thankfully he retracts his fingers (his incredibly, incredibly strong and slender fingers, she unhelpfully notes), and she somehow manages to focus long enough on the television screen until she finds the movie she’s looking for and presses play.

“ _Hercules_?” He asks, looking a bit skeptical. “Wait, we’re two grown adults, and we’re watching Disney movies?”

“We’re two grown adults who’ve seen enough weird shit in the past year, let alone our entire lives, that we should be allowed to kick back and watch animated children’s movies, Bucky,” Darcy replies, and she’s glad that her voice sounds normal to her ears. Her body’s still hot, but then again, Bucky’s still only sitting a half a foot away from her. She can blame it on his intense body heat, not the fact that she’s still a tad turned on. “Besides, I figure that action movies bore you. I mean, you  _are_  a living, breathing action movie.”

Bucky grunts a small laugh, but doesn’t say anything as the film starts. They watch in relative silence, throwing in a couple comments here and there, but once Hercules gets beefed up to hunk status, Bucky remarks, “He reminds me of Steve.” When Megara comes on to the screen, all sultry looks and hidden secrets, Bucky actually chuckles and says, “And she reminds me of Natasha. Is this the main reason why you picked this movie?”

“Of course not,” Darcy replies. Then she gets a sly look and says, “I picked it because Phil reminds me of you.”

Bucky holds a hand to his chest, his mouth hanging open. “Why, Lewis, I’m offended.”

She laughs, and he grins, but they fall silent again.

And then Hercules and Phil arrive in Thebes, and Darcy realizes that she may have screwed up in picking this movie to watch once the titular character goes to fight the monster that, of course, is called Hydra.

She can feel Bucky behind her, tense but otherwise quiet. She’s about to open her mouth and offer that they switch to a different movie, but then Hercules defeats the Hydra and Bucky quietly comments, “Yeah, a lot like Steve.”

Darcy doesn’t want to  _not_  say anything, because she has a big mouth when it counts (and, more often than not, when it doesn’t), and leaving things alone isn’t exactly her thing. Plus, she decides that Bucky won’t exactly shut her out if she asks him if he’s okay, so she does exactly that. “All right?”

“Yeah, I’m good,” he replies. “Just a movie.”

He’s not being exactly truthful, she’s aware. But although Darcy has a big mouth, she also knows when she shouldn’t push. They watch the rest of the film and Bucky’s mood lifts as the story goes on. He doesn’t say anything about Megara betraying Hercules, because she knows he’s already compared the two of them to his closest friends and the implication that Natasha would ever betray Steve is not only ridiculous, but also hits a little too close to home, at least for Bucky, Darcy knows. When the film wraps up, she catches him humming one of the songs to himself, but before she can tease him for it, he tells her to shove it.

They go through  _Tarzan_ ,  _Lilo & Stitch_, and  _Mulan_  (Bucky actually loves the last one, even though he won’t admit to how much), and they’ve just started  _Anastasia_  by the time Steve and Natasha walk through the front door. The sun’s already beginning to set, Darcy realizes, and she also realizes that sometime during their little movie marathon, she had leaned in to Bucky’s side and he had curled his arm comfortably around her shoulders. She doesn’t have enough time to sit up before Natasha notices them on the couch and, with a smirk, remarks, “Well, you two look chummy.”

Bucky lifts his metal arm, the one not curled around Darcy, and flips Natasha off.

She ignores him and comes around to stand beside the couch. “Are you two seriously watching cartoons?”

“You’re one to talk, when you’re dating the one guy in this room who doesn’t shut up about how ‘it’s so amazing how all of this is  _drawn_ ’ and ‘the colors are outstanding’ and ‘do you know many sketches go into one scene?’ whenever he watches an animated movie,” Bucky counters.

Steve blushes as he plops down in to one of the arm chairs. Natasha, however, comes to his defense as she sits across his lap (which Bucky reacts to with a poorly hidden grimace, the child). “He’s an artist, he’s allowed a pass. You two, however, are respectively a highly-trained assassin and a… former unqualified lab assistant?”

“The  _best_  former unqualified lab assistant,” Darcy corrects.

“Ah, my mistake,” Natasha replies with an eye roll and a smirk. She lifts her chin towards the TV. “So, what’s this?”

“Only the biography of your long-lost sister, Anastasia Romanov,” Darcy replies.

“Funny,” Natasha sneers.

“Sadly, the resemblance ends at the red hair, green eyes, and hatred for being told what to do,” Bucky adds, and Darcy has to keep from laughing because the look Natasha gives him is actually frightening, even though she knows it’s light-hearted. Steve’s smirking beneath her, and when she yanks around to give him the same look, he actually starts chuckling instead of cowering beneath her signature Black Widow death-stare.

Darcy thinks,  _now, that’s love_.

Natasha grins at her.

Seriously. Can she or can she  _not_  read minds?

Before Darcy can ask, Steve lets out a huff of breath. “I’m exhausted. And starving. Have you guys eaten yet?” They shake their heads no. “Pizza?”

They, rather enthusiastically, nod their heads yes.

An hour later, they’re finished with the movie and gathered around the coffee table, eating slices of mushroom and pepperoni and sharing a normal conversation—‘normal’ consisting of Natasha making sexual innuendos to make Steve blush (though Darcy knows by now that the man is definitely not a prude, he just seems to get shy around people he is not currently screwing), Darcy making sexual innuendos about their friends to make Bucky frown, and Bucky and Steve teasing each other or vice versa while Natasha and Darcy laugh and/or roll their eyes. Overall, it’s a fun night. And by the time Natasha’s had enough pizza for the evening, sitting on the floor and leaning against the chair between Steve’s legs, and Darcy’s already stuffed her body with two and a half slices, Steve and Bucky are still shoving their faces like fiends.

“What ever happened to being ‘uncomfortably full’ to watch triple D, Barnes?” Darcy pouts at him from where she’s sitting at the opposite end of the couch as he works on his sixth slice of the night. Darcy should have called bullshit once Steve phoned the pizza place and ordered four pies, honestly.

Bucky grins at her, marinara sauce on his bottom lip. “I lied. Guy Fieri’s flip-flops make me uncomfortable.”

“Now  _that’s_  a lie,” Steve says before turning to Darcy. “Once he discovered what Netflix and the  _Food Network_  channel was, he binged watch all of the episodes in this very living room one weekend.”

“That was done in confidence, Steven.” Bucky narrows his eyes threateningly.

“I was there, too,” Natasha adds.

“Confidence,” Bucky repeats. “You’re a spy. You should take that phrase to heart.”

“And let everybody else live without the knowledge that Bucky Barnes is a Guy Fieri fanboy? What a horrible thing to do,” Natasha replies, catching the pizza crust Bucky tosses at her head without so much as blinking an eye—or even fucking looking at it, Darcy notes—and feeding it to Steve.

Bucky grimaces. “That backfired.”

Natasha smiles sweetly at him, and that in itself just looks scary, as Steve sucks a bit of sauce from her index finger.

“Yeah,” Bucky shakes his head, placing down his half-eaten pizza in defeat. “Definitely backfired.”

“I don’t even feel sorry for you,” Darcy says to him, “because you lied to me about triple D. That’s something sacred you desecrated, Barnes. This friendship? Terminated.”

She’s grinning, so he doesn’t take her seriously and instead holds his hand to his heart and pretends to be wounded. “Why, how will I ever live?”

“You won’t,” she smirks devilishly, playfully jamming him in the side with her bare toe. Or, well, she  _attempts_  to, because at the last second Bucky catches her foot in his left hand (and she’ll never admit to how nice the sleek metal feels against her skin, nope, never) and starts tickling it with his right.

Darcy’s aware that there are things said about her to people whom she is starting to befriend. One, don’t mention  _The Last Airbender_  in her presence, unless you want her to go on about she would bang Zuko six ways to Sunday. Two, do not steal her food, because she's armed with a taser and she takes her meals very seriously. Three, someone should really take her taser away from her because she tends to use it liberally (she does not agree with that one). And, lastly, four, do not ever,  _ever_  tickle her, unless you are prepared to deal with a wild animal.

Apparently, Bucky didn’t get the memo.

It’s Steve who says, “oh, no,” as Bucky’s fingers make contact with the bottom of her left foot and, before Darcy can control herself, her right instinctively shoots out and smashes the heel against his nice, straight nose.

Well, once-straight.

“Shit, fuck, I am so,  _so_  sorry,” Darcy says as she scrambles upwards and over to where Bucky’s clutching his face with both of his hands, blood spilling over his lips and down his forearms. Her own hands hover uncertainly around his head, unsure if she should touch him or not, before she decides against it and instead turns to glare at Steve, who is hovering just as much as Darcy, and Natasha, who actually looks shocked and, if Darcy didn’t know any better, just a tad bit amused. “Did  _no one_  think to warn him about my tickling issue?”

Natasha’s the one to reply. “Does he look like the type of person who tickles people?”

Shit, she has a point. Darcy turns back to Bucky, a grimace on her face as he tips his head back and accepts a towel Steve hands to him. “Did I break you? God, I broke you. Guys, I cracked his face open.”

Bucky says, “Darcy, calm down, it’s alright,” but the effect is sort of ruined considering it comes out sounding wet from all the blood.

“I don’t think you broke his nose, Darce,” Steve tries to assure her.

“Do you not see all that fucking blood? Sure looks like the subsequence of breaking a body part to me. In my experience, blood equals bad.”

Steve winces. “Didn’t say it wasn’t bad, just… not broken.”

“I’m  _fine_ ,” Bucky tries again.

Natasha pipes in, “Christ, he’s like a damn fountain.”

Bucky removes a hand from the towel to flip her off again.

“Nat, you aren’t helping,” Steve says to her.

“There really isn’t anything I can do  _to_  help,” she says back.

“Seriously, you guys, I fucked his face up. He’s never going to look the same. That model-status nose is gone forever.”

“How many times do I have to say that I’m okay?” Bucky asks, sounding mildly annoyed. Then he pauses, lowers the towel, and gives Darcy a look. “Wait, ‘model-status’?”

Steve almost seems offended as he also asks, “Yeah, ‘model-status’? Don’t you think that’s pushing it?”

“Boys, please. I highly doubt this is the most appropriate time to have a clashing of egos,” Natasha tells the both of them.

“In fact, I think the only appropriate thing to do right now is go to the hospital and get that checked out,” Darcy declares. Bucky looks like he’s about to argue, so she quite plainly adds, “No arguing. Besides, I don’t want you getting blood all over my couch.”

Steve, the secretive child that he is, mutters, “ _My_  couch.”

Darcy doesn’t even bother shooting him a look (she knows Natasha has that covered) as she stares determinedly at Bucky, who’s actually frowning despite the fact that it has to hurt. They simply scowl at one another for what seems like minutes before Bucky grumbles something under his breath but gets up from the couch nonetheless, the towel still clutched to his face as he marches out the door with Steve, Natasha, and a triumphant (and, okay, very apologetic) Darcy in tow.


	4. Brunch of Badass Bitches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meant to have this published at the beginning of the month but got sidetracked by other prompts and the holidays. Sorry about that! And also sorry about the fact that this chapter isn't really Bucky/Darcy-centric, but the next chapter absolutely will be, promise.

Three years ago, if you told Darcy that she’d be having brunch on a terrace in the Upper East Side of Manhattan with a Russian super spy-slash-assassin and the CEO of Stark Industries, she would have laughed in your face. Or, more probably, she would have tased you.

Well, here she is.

“You _what_?”

Darcy swipes a French fry through a small puddle of ketchup, plopping it into her mouth and chewing while also slightly wincing. “I may or may have not broken the Winter Soldier’s nose.”

Natasha rolls her eyes. The action looks exceedingly more intimidating considering she’s leaning back in her chair, arms folded over her chest and legs crossed at the knee. Paired that with the fact that she’s dressed in an all-black business suit and matching stilettos, she looks like the CEO here, not Pepper. “You didn’t break his nose.”

“I beg to differ,” Darcy insists. The image of all that blood is forever burned into her head, despite the fact that, yeah, when they took Bucky to the hospital, all the nurse told them was that he had suffered a minor fracture, one that the watered-down serum he had could heal at quite the rate. Nevertheless, she still feels bad. She even spent the whole car ride back to Steve and Natasha’s apartment (because, of course, Bucky insisted on riding his motorcycle back to his own place) apologizing profusely, even though Bucky replied that he wasn’t mad at her each time.

“Hold on, let me get this straight,” Pepper says, holding up a hand. Natasha may look like the actual CEO at this brunch, but Darcy can’t deny that Pepper looks outstandingly gorgeous, too—she’s dressed in a form-fitting white dress, with gold accents and jewelry to compliment the color of her hair and tanned tint to her skin. “You tased the God of Thunder, and now you’ve almost managed to break Bucky Barnes’ nose.” Darcy nods in confirmation. Pepper raises both of her eyebrows and continues, “Since you seem to be making the rounds through each of the male Avengers, can Tony be next?”

Natasha doesn’t bothering hiding her snicker at that.

“I’m actually being serious,” Pepper states.

Darcy smirks. “I’ll see what I can do. He never made me that Iron Darcy armor fitted with tasers instead of repulsor guns, so I’m holding a grudge.”

“Iron Darcy?” Natasha asks with a lifted brow.

“One time Tony ate the rest of the Asgardian ice cream Thor got me from the motherland, so as recompense—and to bribe me from asking you, Natasha, to rip every single hair out of his goatee, one by one—he told me he’d get me anything I wanted.”

“So, naturally, you asked for your own Iron Man suit,” Natasha remarks in a flat voice.

“Iron Darcy,” she corrects with a raised finger.

“Yeah, Darcy, honey, I never thought I’d be saying this in a hundred years, but… I think Tony made a good call with not making you that suit,” Pepper says, and Darcy can’t shoot her the glare that she wants to because this is Pepper Potts, for crying out loud, nicest woman on the planet except when she’s not. Actually, Darcy remembers the first time she ever saw Pepper in business mode. She can actually be pretty scary. Not in a way that could rival the Black Widow, but in a way that’s so unexpected that you’re both intimidated and impressed all at once. And she’s one of maybe five people who aren’t at least a little bit afraid of Natasha, so there’s also that.

Oh, and she puts up with Tony fucking Stark on a near-daily basis. Yeah, Darcy respects the hell out of that woman, so no—she can’t begrudge her for thinking Iron Darcy is a bad idea (it’s not, but still).

Instead, Darcy asks, “So, did you really tell Natasha the other day that you wanted to have lunch, just the three of us, to talk about how I”—she boldly shoots Natasha a look—“cracked Bucky’s head open because of a tickle incident and the fact that your boyfriend doesn’t uphold his Iron Darcy promises?”

Pepper laughs and takes a sip of her mimosa. Darcy briefly looks around at their meals and realizes that her Coke, hamburger, and French fries pretty much stands out against the Manhattanite shit her friends ordered. “What, I can’t spend an afternoon with some girlfriends?”

“You run the largest tech conglomerate in the world, Potts. You probably have to have people remind you to eat for yourself, let alone with a poli-sci major and the one woman who used-to-kind-of-sort-of be your assistant.”

Pepper doesn’t say anything to that, but her lips twist up in a smirk as she looks at Natasha and comments, “Speaking of, I like what you’ve done with your hair, Nat. It’s very Natalie Rushman of you.”

“Thanks, Darce. You reminded her.” Darcy smiles sweetly. “You still holding that against me, Miss Potts?”

Pepper laughs. “Oh, of course not. I was just saying that I didn’t know you were growing your hair out. Really, it’s nice.”

As Darcy sips her soda, she mumbles, “She probably did it so Steve has something to hold on to.”

Natasha’s lips tip up into a smirk that Darcy would definitely label as smug. “He likes it long, yes,” she says. “But he had plenty to hold on to even when my hair was short.”

“Oh, dear,” Pepper begins. “As much as I am very glad that you and the Captain are finally together and, well, enjoying being together, I would really rather not hear about your sex life.”

“At least you don’t have to actually hear their sex life,” Darcy comments.

Pepper raises both of her eyebrows, flushing so slightly that it’s almost missable, and looks at an unapologetic Natasha.

“He’s loud,” she explains with a lifted shoulder. “I’m not sorry about it.”

Darcy’s being honest when she says, “I really, really cannot expect you to be. Every girl likes a guy who’s vocal.” She turns when Pepper opens her mouth and quickly adds, “Also, and no offense, Potts, I love you, but this isn’t the time where you start talking about how Tony’s like in bed. I don’t think there’s ever going to be a time for that.”

Pepper makes a face. “Not what I was going to talk about, but thanks for the heads up.”

“Anytime,” Darcy replies with a wide smile.

“What I was going to suggest was asking Tony to design some sort of soundproofing tech to install in your room. Not only to help you sleep, but also as compensation for the ice cream, since I’m pretty sure Iron Darcy isn’t happening.”

She frowns at that last bit, but sighs and nods anyway. “Yeah, I’ll think about it. Even though taser gauntlets do seem badass.”

“Considering how openly you use your actual taser now, I really don’t think gauntlets are the greatest of ideas.”

“I really like you, Pepper. So I’m letting the fact that you keep destroying my Iron Darcy dreams slide.”

Pepper smiles, and Darcy has a hunch that it’s the type of smile she uses when she’s trying to charm other businessmen/women and succeeding. It’s not unlike the frighteningly sweet smile Natasha likes to use rather freely, or the one—or lack of one, really—Maria wears whenever Darcy butts into Avenging business. Besides Jane, Darcy is friends with some seriously threatening women. Okay, Jane too, when she wants to be. She sort of loves it.

Okay, actually loves it. It really ups her street cred, you know?

“And I actually did want to have lunch with the two of you just for the sake of having lunch,” Pepper continues, “but I’m afraid my want may have been a tad mixed up with work.”

Darcy cocks a brow. “Meaning?”

“Meaning she’s got a special job for you, Darce,” Natasha explains. “Earlier this week when Steve and I went to talk with Fury at the Tower, Stark asked for a favor.”

“You? Doing favors for Tony?”

Natasha smirks. “Okay, so, Pepper asked for a favor, but considering she wasn't there at the time, he asked on her behalf.”

“Nothing major, really. And you can say no if you want to. I can always find someone else, but I figured that you might be getting a little stir crazy being cooped up in Steve’s apartment all the time.” Pepper briefly glances at Natasha. “Given our recent talk about sex lives, I figure I’m not entirely wrong.”

“So, what? You need me to set some cocky new employees in line? I can play the badass corporate bitch. I’m a great actor, but I admit that I can get a little method,” Darcy says.

“And nobody wants that,” Natasha comments with a devilish smile, popping a crouton in her mouth. “It’d make my home life absolutely unbearable.”

“Highly doubt that, Tash. I really do.”

Pepper shakes her head fondly at the both of them. “No, no. Your method acting isn’t needed. I just need a new PR agent. Temporarily, of course, since I know you’ll want to be with Jane when she comes back from Asgard. Or if you completely hate the job. I just need someone until I can find a replacement, and you actually seemed pretty perfect for it, surprisingly.”

“Surprisingly?” Darcy pretends to be offended.

Natasha rolls her eyes and says, “Darcy, you give Stark a run for his money when it comes to having a lack of a verbal filter,” but it’s not mean-spirited, just, well, a statement of the truth. Darcy can’t argue with that.

That doesn’t stop her for wanting to try though, if only because she hates backing down from a challenge and she’s opting to take Natasha’s words as one. However, Pepper starts talking before she can. “True, but that lack of a filter can work in her favor. I mean, look at Tony. All those years being talked about in the tabloids, and the biggest scandal ever surrounding him was about Iron Man. He never had a PR agent—or, well, _I_ tried to fill that job for him, but he never took any of my advice or, when I actually did fix some damage done by the media, he went out and mucked it up again. But it works for him. That’s just Tony.”

“You’re not Tony though, Potts.”

“No. I’m not. Which means that if you take this job, you won’t have to deal with sex tape or public intoxication scandals.” She shrugs, taking another sip of her drink. “Won’t stop people from trying to slander me, though. I really just need someone who can tell the paparazzi to shove it and suck it without it seeming like I’m the one telling them to.”

“And that’s me,” Darcy surmises. She leans back in her chair, smiling rather smugly. “This is great. I can be like one of those take-no-shit PR agents on a raunchy HBO show.”

Natasha chuckles. “You watch way too much television.”

“Like reverse racism, that’s not an actual thing,” Darcy points out before turning to Pepper. “But I’m in. It sounds fun. Besides, I’m already sort of experienced in that department, if you count heartily defending Jane’s name from the other sexist assholes in her field. I even made one shit their pants once, believe it or not. And none of that ever reflected badly on Jane. Word just got around not to fuck with her unless you wanted to be humiliated by her, and I quote, ‘dinky but fiery’ assistant.”

Pepper grins from ear to ear, then gives Natasha a look. “See? Told you she’d be perfect for the job.”

“Never said she wouldn’t be,” Natasha replies. “I only said that she might get out of hand. You never told her that she couldn’t use her method acting, just that it wasn’t needed.”

Darcy’s practically bounding with excitement as she notes, “And the only difference between a badass corporate bitch and a badass public relations bitch is the job title.”

“So what am I?” Pepper asks.

“Badass CEO bitch. And together, we are going to crush the balls of many, many weak men. And the ovaries of a few women.”

Both of the other women give Darcy seriously doubtful looks. She winces a bit under their scrutiny and asks, “Too much?”

“Too much,” they agree in unison.

Pepper informs her that she starts her new job Monday, which gives her the weekend to prepare. She instantly—and excitedly—notes that she has to go shopping. After all, the CEO of Stark Industries’ PR agent can’t go around wearing faded jeans and old converse if she wants to be taken seriously. Even though Darcy may seem very far from the type of girl who loves to shop, she loves treating herself, and sometimes those two things intermix with one another. And when Pepper offers to fund her new work wardrobe? Well, if there’s anything Darcy loves more than treating herself, it’s being treated.

This is very much demonstrated when Darcy and Natasha return home several hours later, the latter dangling a small pink bag from her fingers as she walks leisurely inside and the former having a much harder time fitting through the door with many heavy bags hanging from both arms, hair in her face and lungs very much out of breath.

Bucky, who’s sitting at the breakfast counter drinking a beer as Steve prepares dinner in the kitchen, whistles at the sight. “Lookin’ worse for wear, Lewis.”

“Is that a pun because of all the clothes? Or are you just being a dick?” Darcy pants, finally wedging herself through the front door and crumpling many of her shopping bags in the process. Natasha’s already in the kitchen, her own garment discarded on the counter near Bucky as she leans up and kisses Steve’s cheek. “Never mind, don’t reply to that. I already know the answer. Also, Steve, why the fuck did you move into an apartment building without an elevator?”

“Because it takes more than a few flights of stairs to make three out of the four people in this room winded,” he replies over his shoulder, grinning.

“Well, I’m sorry I’m not masterfully trained or genetically enhanced. Really, I am. All I have are my wits and my looks.”

Bucky smirks. “One half of that sentence is true.”

She’s currently too physically exhausted to comprehend whether he may or may not have just complemented her, so she shoots him a mock-glare instead. He winks at her as he takes a sip of his beer in response.

“Seriously, though,” Steve says, wiping his hands on a dish towel and turning away from the stove. “I thought you guys were just going out for lunch with Pepper?”

Natasha smirks. “We did. And she gave Darcy a job.”

“Hey. Congrats, Darce.” Steve grins, looking proud. Darcy suddenly feels like she just told her father that she got an A on her math test. Natasha seems to get the same vibe, because she rolls her eyes and pinches Steve’s stomach through his blessedly tight T-shirt.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” Darcy says with a shrug. “I’m being paid to be a foul-mouthed, fiercely loyal and protective Boss with a capital B. Who also happens to be very knowledgeable about social media and whatnot. So, basically, myself, but officially.”

“And that requires an entirely new wardrobe?” Steve asks.

“Yes, it does. Don’t question my motives, Steven,” Darcy responds. He laughs at that, but before he can reply, Bucky’s lifting Natasha’s pink bag in one of his hands and peeking inside.

“Nat get a new job too?” Bucky’s already reaching into the bag before Darcy can stop him (knowing full well that the poorly concealed smirk on Natasha’s face means that she’s not going to take the liberty), but by the time she has the words on her tongue, Bucky’s pulling the garment out of the paper bag with his fingers tucked under the straps. When he’s holding it out in front of him for all to see, Natasha’s smirk has turned haughty, Steve’s face has gone red, Bucky’s eyes are narrowed, and Darcy watches all three with full blown amusement.

It’s quiet for what seems like a relatively long time before Bucky’s eyes widen in horror and he drops the black, lacy teddy from his grasp like the straps have suddenly burned him.

“What, Barnes? Never seen a little lingerie before?” Natasha teases, and Darcy’s howling with laughter as Steve buries his face in his hands and Bucky uses a wooden spoon to push the teddy to the edge of the countertop. “Don’t be a child. It hasn’t even been used yet.”

“What it’s going to be used _in_ is what I definitely don’t want to be thinking about,” he grimaces. “And you put the bag next to me on purpose.”

Natasha lifts a shoulder in a shrug. Darcy wipes the tears away from the corners of her eyes and gasps, “Oh, that was great. Really. Good one, Nat.” She lets out a breath, still chuckling quietly to herself.

Bucky turns to her in his stool, frowning at her where she’s sitting on the couch. “You could have some sympathy. You did almost break my nose, after all.”

If Darcy didn’t know that he was just playing the guilt card, she probably would have felt bad. But she does know, so instead she rolls her eyes. “Please. Where’s your proof? Your nose looks perfectly fine to me.”

Bucky hesitates before realizing that, okay, his nose has long since healed and, in fact, looks exactly the same as before Darcy had kicked him square in the face. His eyebrows knit together in a frown and he grumbles under his breath as Darcy laughs again, but it’s quickly cut off by Natasha saying, “At lunch today you wouldn’t stop insisting that you cracked his head open.”

Darcy’s quick to shush her. She tries not to let the way Natasha’s eyes narrow into slits scare her too much, but it’s pretty fucking hard all things considered. “Hey, hey, keep it on the down low. He’s not supposed to know that I care about that pretty face of his.”

“You know, Darce, first you say I’ve got a model-status nose, and now you’re calling me pretty. If I didn’t know any better I’d say you like me.” Bucky grins haughtily, and like some sort of weird, in-sync couple shit, Steve and Natasha roll their eyes.

“I like your face, not you. There’s a difference, Barnes.”

Bucky pretends to be offended. “Only my looks? Ouch.”

Darcy shrugs. “What can I say? I’m shallow.”

“Yeah, in both personality and height,” he notes amusedly.

Scowling, she says, “Height hardly discounts the fact that I can kick your ass. I mean, I’m the same height as Nat. Who’s to say that I can’t do the flippy-leggy-thigh-chokehold thing, too?”

“Every single person in this room, because you can’t,” Natasha flatly intones. Steve chuckles quietly beside her, while Bucky tips his head back in full-blown laughter. Darcy opens her mouth to say something along the lines of _go fuck yourself, Barnes_ , but before she can, Steve announces that dinner’s done, and eating is bumped up to the first priority on Darcy’s long list of out-of-order priorities.

Besides, Bucky can always fuck himself later, pretty face and all.


	5. Vodka, Vodka, And More Vodka

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bet you didn't expect this update, huh? I didn't forget about this story! I've just been super busy! And also a little absorbed in the Star Wars fandom at the moment (Han/Leia trash 2kforever), but i'm still writing for Marvel, don't worry, don't worry. Fair warning: this chapter includes alcohol, drinking, the sorts. Particularly a drunk Darcy. Also, the chef Bucky likes to make fun of is Giada de Laurentiis. I, personally, think it's hilarious when she suddenly whips out her Italian accent.
> 
> Okay, enough with the delay. Enjoy! And review, if you'd like!

Darcy had, actually, forgotten what a normal, nine-to-five job actually felt like. The past few years of her life have consisted of not only working for one of the smartest women on the planet, but also meeting alien gods, watching the aforementioned smart woman fall in _love_ with an alien god, assisting in stopping the world’s end at the hands of elves (Malekith is _definitely_ not as hot as King Thranduil, thank you very much), and becoming an honorary Avenger. Okay, so maybe the last one isn’t exactly the truth, and if she’s ever heard saying that in any of the others’ presence then she’ll never live it down, _but_. In her own mind, and when she’s out of Natasha’s telepathic range, she’s a core member of the team. Now, though, she’s an official employee of Stark Industries.

And, fuck, she’d forgotten over the years how much she hates wearing heels.

And doing her hair and makeup every morning.

And having to wear dressier things than jeans and sneakers.

And, well, actually _working_.

Now, Darcy’ll be the first one to tell you how much she sort of likes this job. But she’s gotten lazy working for Jane, and while she does love the fact that she gets to basically yell at assholes in Pepper’s defense in her new line of work, she’s not entirely fond of the hour-long phone calls she sometimes has to sit through with the same assholes—only she has to actually play nice and patient, meaning she can’t scream “fuck you” and dramatically hang up. And the paperwork. _The goddamn paperwork._

At least the lunches are fucking fantastic and never come out of her own wallet.

But, yeah, at the end of the day, she can’t wait to get home. Which is precisely what she’s doing now.

It’s not that Darcy doesn’t have perceptive hearing, it’s just that she’s usually too jumbled up in her own thoughts or otherwise distracted that sometimes things just go in one ear and out the other—or completely fly over her head altogether. Right now, her feet are killing her and the day’s got her more exhausted than usual, so as she walks up to Steve’s apartment door and pulls out her keys, she doesn’t hear it. In hindsight, she’s not exactly sure that even if she _had_ heard it before actually seeing it then the rest of her night would have went differently. It probably wouldn’t have. Still, it would’ve been nice to have some warning…

When she opens the door, she’s definitely not prepared for the sight that greets her. And she learns that, while Steve and Natasha’s sex life is pretty interesting in theory, actually _witnessing_ it is a whole different thing. Because, yes, what Darcy comes home to after a long day of work is Natasha sprawled out on the breakfast counter, completely naked, with Steve leaning over her, also completely naked, as he screws her with a fervor that shouldn’t be surprising to Darcy considering he’s Captain fucking America, but still is anyway. She also learns that maybe she’s been wrong all along, because the moans that are scarring her more and more by the second are _definitely_ coming from Natasha. Steve just… grunts. A lot.

And then he makes a noise that distinctly sounds like an embarrassed squeak, because he notices Darcy rooted in the doorway, her jaw dangling low and her eyes practically ready to pop out of her skull. Somehow, she manages to yank her body completely around to face the wall while her friends make themselves as decent as currently possible behind her.

Darcy sort of hates that all she can think of to say first is, “ _I have eaten Cap’n Crunch there!_ ”

She also hates that Natasha snickers. “Captain… eating… get it?”

“Nat, it’s not funny, and you aren’t helping,” Steve hurriedly whispers, and Darcy can feel the heat from his blush all the way across the room.

“It’s sort of funny,” she whispers back.

“Damn it, it is funny. The situation cannot change that fact, even if, yes, _it does not freaking help_.” Darcy’s whisper is purposefully not so. “Oh god, this is how Bucky feels. I get it now. I totally, totally get it now.”

“Darce, you can turn around, I’ve got a robe and Steve’s covering his junk with a pot,” Natasha says, voice dripping with too much amusement _considering_.

Steve groans, though it’s the defeated kind, not the sexual kind.

“Nope, I’m fine, that’s okay, thank you,” Darcy replies, voice pinched. She scrambles around in her coat for her phone before lifting and waving it beside her head. “I’m going out. Call me when you’re done rechristening every available surface in the place, please. And, I beg you, don’t go anywhere _near_ my room.”

With that, she marches out the door.

* * *

Bucky gets Darcy’s call while he’s in the middle of watching cooking shows, though when she asks him if he’s busy, he tells her that he’s not, just working out. He doesn’t have enough time to consider whether or not she’s bought the lie because she’s already telling him that she needs a drink, and to _name a place, any place. How do I not know any fucking bars in Brooklyn?_

He tells her to meet him at a joint right down the block from his building. Of course, he doesn’t mention that last bit, and she says _alright_ and he ruefully turns off his TV before standing up and shrugging on his coat. Making fun of the way this particular chef randomly pronounces ingredients or dishes in an Italian accent is typically the highlight of his day (and how sad is _that_ ), but he has to admit that hanging out with Darcy sounds much more appealing. Besides, even if he didn’t enjoy hanging out with her so much, she had sounded pretty frazzled, and that’s enough to grab his attention—and concern.

Yeah, Bucky tends to worry over Darcy a lot. Not that she needs protecting—or that he’d ever tell her that—but he’s constantly reminded that she’s a civilian amongst a throng of heroes and assassins and gods. _Targets_ , essentially, which also makes Darcy one. And Bucky’s not too sure what he’d do if something happened to her just because of who she hung around with.

He’s not too sure what to make out of the fact that, _yes_ , he’d actually be quite… _lost_ if Darcy was ever put in danger, either, so he doesn’t try to, just pulls on his boots, grabs his keys, and slips out the front door.

Naturally, Bucky arrives before her. He takes a seat at one of the tall two-seater tables and orders a couple of beers. Darcy comes marching in ten minutes later, nose pink from the cold and brow furrowed in what he wants to say is determination, but he’s not quite sure.

He raises his eyebrows as she hoists herself on to the stool across from him, unwrapping her scarf from around her neck and taking a pull from the sweating beer in front of her. “Is… everything okay?”

“I am _really_ sorry.”

Bucky frowns. “Um… alright?”

“I walked in on Steve and Nat having sex,” she blurts out all of a sudden, eyes wide. Bucky’s caught halfway between snickering and dropping his jaw. He doesn’t say anything, though, because Darcy’s already going on, telling him about how she’d just been on her way home from work, ready to take a nice bath before falling straight in to bed, and how her plans had quite obviously been derailed. “And my fucking _feet hurt_ , Barnes. I walked here from Steve’s apartment. I was seriously debating on just taking off these little devils and risk losing all my toes in the cold.” As if to prove her point, she sticks one of her short legs out from under the table and showcases a black, long-heeled pump. Her foot looks sort of purple, though whether from the actual shoe or the cold, he’s not sure. She downs the rest of her beer and looks around for the bartender. “I need something stronger.”

He shrugs. “Didn’t know what you’d like. Decided to play it safe. And, uh, sorry about your shit day. Had the rest of it gone better I would’ve made fun of you for witnessing Steve and Nat sleeping together, but I can be nice sometimes.” He grins, for emphasis.

“How sweet of you,” she replies, eyes narrowed. A waiter comes over and she orders something that, to his ears, just sounds like vodka, vodka, and more vodka. He waves off an offer for another beer— _one_ of them has to be sober enough to get them safely out of here later, and he has a feeling that it’s definitely not going to be Darcy.

“So,” she says once the waiter leaves, “I just needed to get that all out. How’s your day been?”

“Uneventful,” he truthfully answers, smirking. “Unlike yours.”

“I think the correct term would be _stressful_.”

“Stark Industries not treating you well?”

“Oh, it’s fine. My body’s just not used to all this. I’m not as young as I used to be, Barnes.”

“You haven’t even hit thirty.”

She sighs. “Can’t you ever let a girl be dramatic?”

“I let you be dramatic _all_ the time,” he says, and she concedes with a laugh. And then proceeds to accept her drink from the waiter, down half of it in five minutes, polish off the rest in another, and then order one more. “Jesus, you could give Nat a run for her money.”

“Been there, tried that,” she replies with a wave of her hand. “That woman has a liver of vibranium, because it was nine drinks before I passed out and she didn’t even seem more than past tipsy.”

He lifts an eyebrow. “You had a competition?”

“Shortly after I moved in, yeah. Surprisingly, Steve was all for it. Now that I think about it, I’ve got a feeling that he only wanted me to pass out and be dead to the world so he and Nat could go at it as loud and long as they want. Not that anything usually stops them…” She gets a glint in her eye, lifting her drink to her mouth and catching the end of the skinny black straw between her lips. “Must be the serum. High stamina and all that.”

Bucky, in an effort to hide the blush that is creeping up his neck, simply grunts neutrally.

Darcy, however, is completely relentless. “Is that a common thing between you super soldier types?”

Again, a grunt.

“Interesting.” Her smile is entirely devilish.

“I didn’t say anything,” he tries.

“No, really,” she starts, and Bucky risks a glance in her direction and sees that this glass is nearly empty, too. “I’ve already filed this information for safe keeping.”

Bucky’s face is completely hot. He doesn’t know what to think, because what Darcy’s implying certainly seems along the lines of… well, _not strictly platonic_. And it’s not like Bucky’s never had those sort of… thoughts. He’s not entirely too proud of it, but it’d be hard for anyone to notice that Darcy’s gorgeous, well-endowed and fit with a great personality, to boot. She flirts with everybody, though. And she’s well on her way to being drunk, if she’s not a little already.

Still, though, he’s screwed. Because there’s really no way to back away from this conversation without flirting back, unless he wants to sound like a complete dick.

So, weakly, he replies, “I was given a watered-down version of Steve’s serum.”

“I know that,” she says, rolling her eyes. He sees that she’s got a third and fourth drink already lined up beside her, and where in the hell had those come from? “You’ve got the strength though, so why not the endurance too?”

He squints. She must’ve been lying about the nine drinks thing, because yeah, Darcy’s decidedly past buzzed herself. Her eyes aren’t _quite_ swimming in her head, but they’re a little brighter than normal. As if voicing his own thoughts, she lets out a low whistle and looks down at her drink. “Whew. Yeah. I’m starting to feel this stuff. Must be the real deal.”

By the time Darcy’s done with her third drink, Bucky’s pretty sure that she had been right—this bar isn’t serving the Americanized crap-vodka he’s so used to seeing on the shelves, because when she picks up the fourth glass, it takes her a minute to catch the straw with her lips. When she does, she closes her eyes and grins as she sings the word _winner_.

Bucky cuts her off midway through her fifth. And then he snatches her purse from her hands when she tries to fumble inside for her taser, making threats toward his life if he tries to take away her alcohol.

“This is the best stuff I’ve had in _centuries_ ,” she slurs, grabbing uselessly at the air in his direction as he slides the purse and booze away from her hands.

“You haven’t been alive for centuries,” he counters, downing the vodka so she can’t steal it from under his nose—and yeah, it’s the real stuff, alright—and wedging the purse between his lower back and the chair.

“Unlike some people.”

“I’ve been alive for _almost_ a century,” he points out. “It’s different. And I’m pretty sure you’re blowing the phrase ‘grabbing a drink after a hard day’s work’ out of proportion.”

She tips her head back and giggles. “I could blow _someone_ out of proportion, right about now. Could go for a good blowing.” She laughs harder, almost bent over the table. Bucky’s face burns. She’s _loud_. “Oh, get it? C’mon, Barnes, get it? You get it. You got it.”

“I got it.”

“ _BLOW JOBS,_ ” she suddenly yells, apparently having not heard his previous statement. The other patrons glance sharply their way, and Bucky doesn’t waste a moment. He tosses more than enough bills to cover the tab on to the table, grabs Darcy’s purse, and eases her off of her stool as best and quickly as he can. It’s hard, considering he has her arm slung over his shoulder to keep her steady and she’s almost an entire foot shorter than him, but he manages to get her out of the door and a few steps down the sidewalk without completely abandoning thought and picking her up. He’s aware that he already looks shady enough; he doesn’t need to go walking around the streets of New York with a drunken woman draped over his back.

He’s just grateful that he picked a bar that’s within walking distance of his apartment.

So much for not letting anybody see where he lives, though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm speeding things along, if you haven't noticed. I've felt that there isn't enough romance-y feel to this fic, just a bunch of flirting. Things'll get heavier within these next couple chapters of so, and then I think I'll be done. Not entirely sure yet, though! I have no idea where I'm taking this. Please note that majority of the time us writers wing these sorts of things.


End file.
